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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29680998">silver lining on dark clouds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles'>Nebbles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Holding Hands, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Thunderstorms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:06:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29680998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylvain's always held a fear of thunderstorms, and had always dealt with them alone before Ferdinand came into his life. From the first instance, and to the very present, Sylvain is glad to have such comforts grace him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>silver lining on dark clouds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was struck with a sudden need for some sweet Ferdivain hurt/comfort, and thus, had to bless everyone with yet another fic for them. I love exploring the ways these two love and comfort one another.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As another roll of thunder threatens to shake the roof of the stables once more, Ferdinand finds that he’s rather vexed with the situation at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There never lies an issue with stable duty, and he is ready to deem it as necessary, given the weather often distresses the horses. While Ferdinand never doubts his skill, he is only one man, and it shatters his heart to think he is the only one present in the stables to offer comfort. He’s offered plenty of strawberries to calm his beloved mare, Sienna, and is now seeing Sylvain's in an attempt to assuage her fears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am certain he shall arrive soon, dear Chestnut.” Where </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>he? The professor assigned them both to stable duty, and he is shirking his duties! “Surely he would not be deterred by the weather. Rain is not so scary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Ferdinand has choice words of Sylvain’s habits outside of his studies, he’s never been one to ignore his duties. There lies the possibility he’s fallen ill, perhaps, but to come on so sudden? Was he not in fine shape earlier this afternoon? And surely he would not wish to endure a lecture from the professor—or even the likes of Ingrid or Dimitri, had this reached their ears. Furthermore, would the professor not have informed him if Sylvain could not make it, and assign another partner to accompany him during stable duty?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next clap of thunder is far louder, and it causes Chestnut to give a more frightened whinny. Ferdinand looks to her in concern, shaking away his previous thoughts. “It is alright! I am here to protect you, Chestnut!” What an awfully strong reaction… while most animals were uncomfortable around storms, the way she acted was almost unusual. Did she carry a terrible association? Faerghus did not seem as though it received thunderstorms often… and surely this was not because she was unused to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Ferdinand continues to run a hand down her mane. “Will you suffice on your own for a moment, dear Chestnut? I will go fetch Sylvain. It is his duty to ensure you are well, and not leave the care to others.” A selfish action, as it were! A noble such as himself ought to know better! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does hate to leave them be, but now that Ferdinand’s given himself the task of seeking out Sylvain, it shall be the only thing on his mind. He’s always been prone to focus on the task at hand, and the more weight it carries, the higher priority Ferdinand is willing to give it. If all goes well, he shall find the other soon enough, and return to the stables in the blink of an eye. Nothing is impossible when Ferdinand von Aegir is on the case!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, all areas of the monastery seem to be equipped for inclement weather. Near the entrance to the stables lies an arrangement of umbrellas in various colors—and while Ferdinand brought his own, ever prepared for anything, it’s still good to see he isn’t the only one who thinks ahead. It’s a shame that it’s still a bit of a walk to the entrance, but who is he to be deterred by some rain? There lie more pressing matters at hand!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ferdinand makes his way to the dorms, his grip on the umbrella is tight. The wind isn’t terrible, but it’s enough to make the branches sway against darkened skies, to cause some of Ferdinand’s hair obscure his vision. He’s worried for the horses yet again; if the storm gets far worse, they’ll be truly terrified out of their wits. He may also be trapped with Sylvain in his dorm… and while not terrible, Ferdinand feels it may be awkward. While they do converse during stable duty, he fears they just haven’t found common ground beyond caring for their mares. Perhaps they’ll find something in all this, and he is overthinking matters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon approaching Sylvain’s room, Ferdinand sets his umbrella against the wall, tapping on the door with the back of his hand. “Sylvain? Are you there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no reply, and at first, Ferdinand is to assume Sylvain is elsewhere. However, his eyes catch a glimpse of light peeking out from the door—something reminiscent of a fair amount of candles lit, if it’s showing in such a way. How… odd. Ferdinand’s not quite sure what to think of this. He tilts his head to the side in confusion, eyebrow raised, and goes to give another knock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain, if you are ignoring me…” Surely he would not go this far to ignore his duties… “Chestnut is wondering where you are, you know. She is frightened by the storm, and I am sure she would appreciate your company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon the third instance of silence, Ferdinand heaves a sigh, and places his hand on the doorknob. He gives it a small turn, and seeing how it isn’t locked, decides to slowly push it open. He’s aware of how impolite this is, but being ignored on purpose is hardly any better! The </span>
  <em>
    <span>nerve </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it all—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand’s thoughts stop short the moment he sees Sylvain’s back against the wall, head buried in the knees that are drawn to his chest, fingers gripping into his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s candles—there is an absurd amount of them. Ferdinand almost fears they’re a fire hazard, and the light they bathe the room in feels unnatural. Truthfully, nothing about this situation feels right. It’s out of place, terribly unnerving, and it’s not made far better by the stuttered gasps that come out of Sylvain as he attempts to breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain?” Ferdinand steps in without another thought, softly closing the door behind him. “Can you hear me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain freezes in place, but doesn’t look up at the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Oh, dear… Ferdinand isn’t quite sure what he’s stepped into, but there isn’t any way he can leave Sylvain like this. “I apologize for intruding, and perhaps imposing as well. Do you mind if I stay? Surely the storm shall pass soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t gesture for Ferdinand to go. He assumes this means permission is given, and yet is lost on what to do. While wishing to believe he excels when it comes to comforting others, it’s not a trait he possesses quite yet. He does recall a few things from his mother, but… ah, he is not sure they may work in Sylvain’s case. Will he even wish to have them? Is it appropriate to ask? He’ll have to gauge the situation, but Ferdinand remains confident he’ll do something to help Sylvain. To start, he’s going to blow out some of these candles, just to avoid risk; the last thing they need is to run the chance of starting an accidental fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” is what Ferdinand hears as he blows out the first one, “keep them lit. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I at least ask why?” Ferdinand’s first thought is that Sylvain may fear the dark, and it’s a rather ridiculous one. He does not mean to sound rude, but is that fear not a childish one? “Surely you realize this is not safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t set the room on fire yet.” Is he making a </span>
  <em>
    <span>joke </span>
  </em>
  <span>during all of this? While he is short of breath, complexion pallid? “You’ll be fine.” He’s also ignored his question, which Ferdinand hardly appreciates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are not addressing my concerns.” Ferdinand realizes this sounds rather rude, and clears his throat. “I just wish to ensure your safety, Sylvain. You have not skipped group tasks before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you come to get me because you were actually worried, or because you thought it was your </span>
  <em>
    <span>noble duty </span>
  </em>
  <span>to catch me slacking off?” There’s little bite to Sylvain’s words, and Ferdinand senses he’s trying to brush him away. He isn’t sure why, but Ferdinand knows he isn’t going to budge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those were not my words.” Ferdinand sits across from him now, legs crossed, hands neatly folded. “You were not present, and I wished to know if you were well. I do not mean to speak harshly, but it is evident that you are not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, Ferdinand, you sure do know how to make a guy feel special.” Sylvain snorts. “You use that line on everyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, if he thinks he shall fall for such a trap! The insult to his honor! “Am I not allowed to worry about a friend of mine?” He sees Sylvain freeze up once more. “I did not come here to berate you. I could never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of silence, another clap of thunder, alongside a flash of lightning, decorate the afternoon sky. Sylvain’s breath gives a hitch once more as he tucks his head back into his knees, hiding whatever expression he doesn’t wish for Ferdinand to see. Something stirs in his heart, an aching that Ferdinand wasn’t aware he could possess. He moves closer to Sylvain, and begins to reach a hand out. Whatever’s hurt him, whatever has caused him to fear the rain in such a way… there lies no other word for it. It is terrible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When thinking of his own fears, Ferdinand cannot quite recall the last time they’ve seized him in such a manner. He supposes such instances occurred when he was a child, clinging to his mother’s arm in an attempt to make the bad things go away. It’s been some time, but he does recall her voice, light and warm, touch comforting as her hand brushed through his hair. She would sing to him, either a soft rendition of a song they heard in the opera house, or an old Adrestian lullaby that he’s heard for many a year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s been gone from this world for some time now, and Ferdinand wonders were she still alive, he’d be able to comfort others the way she did. At the very least, Ferdinand knows he can give his best effort. While he does not think Sylvain shall be receptive to a song—and truly, the idea of singing to him stirs </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>in Ferdinand’s chest and he isn’t sure why—he does believe there’s at least something he can do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Ferdinand removes his gloves and sets them to the side, and offers out a hand to him. “Sylvain?” Unsure of why, his next breath remains lodged in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It does take some time for Sylvain to look up at him, and his expression turns to one of confusion at Ferdinand’s outstretched hand. He doesn’t move to take it, and raises an eyebrow as he looks towards Ferdinand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is something my mother did with me in the past, when I was afraid,” he says, “or when I was unwell. On nights that I was ill, she would sit at my bedside and hold my hand until I fell asleep, and the warmth helped me rest well into the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain doesn’t move his hand just yet, but the questioning expression leaves his face. Ferdinand dares to say it’s replaced with something softer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do not have to take my hand, however.” Ferdinand gives a small, patient smile. “But if this can help in any way, then I must extend the offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s quiet as he slowly reaches out for Ferdinand’s hand, fingers tracing up its palm before lacing with Ferdinand’s own. His grip is tighter than what’s expected, but Ferdinand does not mind as he gives a squeeze back. Sylvain’s hand is bigger than his own, and despite the way it shakes, there’s a warmth it carries. Given how Ferdinand’s hand is being held, all he can manage is to lightly brush his thumb against Sylvain’s finger, trying to ignore how oddly intimate it feels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me know if there is something else I can do.” Briefly, their eyes meet before Sylvain’s return to staring at the floor. “I will stay here until the storm passes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really aren’t gonna drag me to the stables, huh?” Sylvain rests his chin atop his knees. “You’re not going back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will explain to the professor why we were not there,” he starts, before realizing Sylvain may not wish for this to be aired, “...and just tell them you were unwell, and shall leave it at that. Is that alright with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Ferdinand swears he sees something warm flicker in Sylvain’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am glad.” While there does lie a part of him that worries for Sienna and Chestnut, surely they will understand the situation. It will do them no good to see Sylvain unwell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not an awkward silence they fall back into, Ferdinand thinks. Sylvain is taking time to collect himself, to keep himself grounded by keeping their fingers intertwined. His breathing is far more normal than it was before, gaze less glassy, color returning to his skin. Ferdinand swears he’s observing for no other reason to ensure he is alright, and yet… No, no—hardly is this any time to consider why he is staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand decides to shift closer, wondering if it’s possible to do more. The sky’s the limit, he’s told himself before, so why not apply such a phrase when it comes to helping others? Not only is it noble to do so, it stirs warmth in Ferdinand’s chest to know he’s done something good. It feels quite the accomplishment to get through to Sylvain as well, somehow. While he still does not know the origin of Sylvain’s fears, or why they’re present, he’s found a way to help just as quickly as he’s discovered them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t expect for Sylvain’s head to slump against his shoulder, eyes shut as he draws in a breath, slowly exhaling it after. Ferdinand freezes in place, not wanting to disturb him as he begins to wonder </span>
  <em>
    <span>who </span>
  </em>
  <span>would hurt Sylvain this badly and for what reason. He’s heard rumors of what transpired in Conand Tower, and how it stormed that day—and yet, this seems to run far deeper than he knows. It’s hardly his place to ask, and all he can do is continue to help Sylvain, lest the other continue to want it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay like this until the storm passes, and Ferdinand wonders if Sylvain would’ve fallen asleep against him, had he stayed any longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sylvain looks back on those days with a laugh, and he holds it with pride that he’s able to. Six years makes quite the difference, sure, but he thinks he’s coping with the rain far better than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For starters, his room isn’t a fire hazard. While the candles still cast it in a soft glow, offering light to ward off the rolls of thunder, it isn’t blinding. Secondly, he’s made it onto his bed this time, not curled up against the wall in what anyone had the right to call pathetic. Last of all, and this is something he deems the most important, his head is resting against Ferdinand’s lap, hands intertwined as they were in the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Storms like this aren’t common in Gautier, as thunder is rarely found in such frigid temperatures. It’s possibly the only comfort he’s ever found in that cold. Even if he’s back at the monastery, dealing with scorching summers and weather that rattles the blinds, it offers one thing Faerghus cannot: Ferdinand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the claps of thunder does Sylvain enjoy his lover’s voice, a song that attempts to break the clouds to pull the sun forth. It wouldn’t surprise him if Ferdinand could accomplish such a feat, really. The man could be a sun god for all he knew, or one in training if he couldn’t control the weather just yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain opens one of his eyes to look at Ferdinand, who wears a soft smile as he sings, unoccupied hand running through his hair. He’s not familiar with this one—he believes it’s a lullaby, something too personal for a stage—but its origin doesn’t matter. Relaxation does not come hand-in-hand with the tides of war, yet Ferdinand’s somehow given them this grace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes their conjoined hands, placing a soft kiss upon Ferdinand’s. Affectionate as the lovers are, they always seek ways to further the way they dote upon one another. Some may call it greed, but Sylvain believes he’ll never have enough of Ferdinand. No shame lies in this, as Sylvain has placed his heart in his hands. Despite the fact they are weathered with callouses and war, they are uniquely Ferdinand’s, and no other will ever offer this touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Sylvain,” he says after the song finishes, “may I ask how you are feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better.” Now that he’s looking at Ferdinand once more, Sylvain begins to count all the freckles on his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> the rain this much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I am glad to hear that.” Ferdinand leans down to brush his lips over Sylvain’s brow. “However, I do not think this storm shall pass soon. Shall I sing to you again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I have something else in mind.” He can hear Ferdinand sing forever, and Sylvain believes he’ll ask for more later. “I want to know where you learned to sing like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all the letters they’ve exchanged over the five years, not once did Sylvain ask this. Maybe had they had more time, was Ferdinand not on the run, they would’ve had time for stories. Instead, their words carried sentiments of safety, that they hoped to see each other again. Sylvain wished Sienna well, and Ferdinand did the very same for Chestnut. It was a small blessing, but one that made Sylvain smile—and it was genuine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please?” Hardly does Sylvain need to add theatrics, but he pouts anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if I would deny you!” Ferdinand laughs softly as he sits up once more. “I would be honored to share the tale, my radiance. It is one of the few childhood memories I covet.” A smile crosses his face, “my mother is the one to thank for my love of music. Without her, I do believe I would not have immersed myself in its world at such a young age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain finds that he doesn’t wince as lightning flashes outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She took me to my first show moons ago, and I recall being lost to Mittelfrank's splendor. With her hand around my own, she walked me down its grand halls, showing me portraits of its finest performers… and there was one in particular that stood out to me, and I asked her who the beautiful lady was in the portrait,” he gives another laugh, “I am certain she found amusement in my words. But the artist had painted her so brilliantly that I could not help but be drawn to it above the others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvian has a feeling who this mysterious lady is, but he’s glad to let Ferdinand continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She told me the songstress was no other than Manuela Casagranda, Adrestia’s most prominent performer who carried a voice that even the Goddess envied. Such bold words, she said, but she was not the type of woman to give out such praise without reason.” Ferdinand must miss her terribly, Sylvain thinks, given how wistful he sounds. “We both could not contain our excitement at that point, and had gone to take our seats the moments the doors were opened. She had gotten us the best seats one could manage, and told me she hoped I would love it as much as she had. While we had other things in common, this would be just for the two of us. My father did not share a love of the stage, and she did not want my entire life dictated by treatises and weathered history books.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He offers another squeeze of Ferdinand’s hand, thumb gliding over its back. It seems as if he truly inherited her heart that somehow contained all of the world’s kindness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And once the show had begun… oh, I could simply not help but to lose myself in song! In music! I had never heard something so beautiful, and I could not imagine my excursion to Mittelfrank being a singular experience. A new world had been open to me, and I wished to chase it.” He gives a soft sigh. “I could only do so as a hobby, but I treasure the moments I got to sing with my mother. It is something I do to honor her memory. She may have passed on from this world, but I can still recount the lullabies she would sing to me, her favorites… I sing for her, Sylvain, as I do you. It is something I use to honor those I hold dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing this doesn’t come as a surprise, as Ferdinand’s one to put his entire heart in each action he takes. However, to be honored on the same level as his mother, someone Ferdinand loves with all he is, causes Sylvain’s heart to skip a beat. This isn’t something he needs to communicate with words, as the look on his face says more than they ever could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I care for you, Sylvain.” Ferdinand brushes his fingers against Sylvain’s cheek, cupping his jaw. “I sometimes fear my actions do not show the depth of what my heart holds for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like magic, Sylvain’s brain turns to mush—often as it does when Ferdinand speaks to him in such a manner in tandem with his gentle eyes. It’s rare to know what to do when faced with such sincerity. For all the earnesty he’s begun to give, Sylvain was not one to expect it back. Ferdinand’s already done so much when it comes to caring for him, and Sylvain only hopes he can do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are worth every song in the world. I will always hold true to that belief.” Ferdinand’s gaze does not waver. “And am I not a man who equivocates on my opinions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you aren’t.” It’s the only reply Sylvain can manage with how the beating of his heart drowns out the thunder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mother would be honored to know that I am singing for the man I love,” he continues, “and that I am upholding our tradition in this way. I will always sing for you, Sylvain. Do not doubt what I shall do for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have a reason to.” The world may feel uncertain right now, but never will Sylvain believe that Ferdinand will stop loving him. “And you know I’d do the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am aware.” Ferdinand smiles at him once more. He slowly shifts as he lies at Sylvain’s side, his chest pressed into the other’s back. “Let me sing to you once more. Perhaps a nap is in order, and we shall wake up to sunshine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what if I already have the sun at my side?” Sylvain settles in Ferdinand’s arms, safe and secure, far from the storm’s reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I would say you are flirting with me, and I find you charming as ever.” Ferdinand places a gentle kiss upon his shoulder. “Rest your eyes, Sylvain. I will protect you, always.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He begins to sing once more, lullaby softer than the sheets below them as Sylvain’s eyelids grow heavy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, his dreams are kind.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you enjoyed, make sure to leave a comment/kudos! If you want to hear about future works and rambles, make sure to follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/that_nebbles">Twitter!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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